


Distant

by OctolingO



Category: The Aurora Cycle - Amie Kaufman & Jay Kristoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25427173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctolingO/pseuds/OctolingO
Summary: The night of losing Catherine, Zila reflects on her emotions.Or rather, the lack of them.
Kudos: 5





	Distant

Legionnaire Zila Madran, Brain of Squad 312, stares emotionlessly at the ceiling as she lies in her bunk. The day's events had been… suboptimal. 

They had been unable to stop the Ra’haam. 

Catherine Brannock had been compromised. 

Scarlett’s sobbing is plain to hear, though her and Zila do not share a room. Everyone is crying, but Zila can only hear Scarlett and Tyler’s. 

Everyone is crying, except Zila. She almost wishes she could feel… something,  _ anything _ to tell herself that she is still human. That her bones are still made of bone, that her muscles are still made of muscle. 

As opposed to her bones being made of metal and her muscles of wires. Zila often feels as if she is a robot, and she knows the other members of her Squad hate her for it. Maybe even envy her for it. 

Zila certainly does not envy herself. She envies the other’s ability to freely show their emotions, at least more than she can. 

Her emotions stay stubbornly out of reach. Even as a tear appears on her cheek, she does not feel sad. She knows she must feel sad, somewhere, or she would not be crying, but the sorrow that her squadmates are openly feeling stays distant from her. 

Frustrated, Zila grasps at the air above her. Maybe then, she can find her aggravatingly hidden sorrow. She can picture Scarlett’s tear stained face in her head, and she knows there have been times where she has cried. 

None in recent memory, of course. 

And then it hits her like a brick. 

_ Cat is gone. She’s gone, and you’re never going to see her again.  _

A sob starts to build in her throat. The tears that have been trickling down her face now start to come in waves. Zila claps a hand over her mouth as the sob escapes. That one bit of sorrow of losing a teammate gives way to all the distant emotion she’s been hiding. A raw, grief-driven wail tears itself from her lips. Her breathing hitches. Her voice catches. She blinks, the world around her blurry with tears. 

And just as quickly as they came, the tears are gone. Zila takes a shaky breath, relaxing against her lumpy pillow. She furrows her eyebrows in confusion.  _ I’d almost forgotten what sorrow felt like.  _ She thinks. In a way, the emotional revelation is refreshing. 

“Zila?” Scarlett’s voice says outside her door, thick from crying. “Are you alright?”   
“I am fine, Scarlett.” Zila responds. 

“You know, if you ever need anything, me and Auri are here for you.”   
“I know. Thank you, but I am alright now.”   
“Okay,” Scarlett says, but she does not sound convinced. “Goodnight, Zila.”

“Goodnight.”


End file.
